


set out to get you (with a fine-tooth comb)

by sarcangel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Louis is an enchanted swan, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, No one has sex or even thinks about it, Other, swan direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-14 00:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcangel/pseuds/sarcangel
Summary: “Would change your shirt, mate, he’s a thousand-year-old swan. You’ve got to pull out all the stops.”Zayn’s hanging in the doorway to Niall’s room, an easy smile on his face - like it doesn’t bother him at all, that Niall’s on a quest to make someone else fall in love with him. Maybe it doesn’t, maybe it shouldn’t. Niall grumbles but changes his shirt; the new one, dappled orange koi swimming over stylized waves. He was going to save it for the second date, but Zayn’s not wrong - you never do get a second chance to make a first impression.





	set out to get you (with a fine-tooth comb)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dearmrsawyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/gifts).



> this is for jamila, whose comments on a certain gifset set off a chain of unfortunate events, at whose culmination we have now arrived. <3
> 
> thanks to both jamila and justine for putting on this fest! and thanks to everyone who supported this project, your enthusiasm meant a lot to me and i hope this doesn't suck.

Sun glints off the surface of the pond, it’s obnoxious. The frogs were up all night last night, deep voices waxing morose about the end of summer - as if it doesn’t happen this way every year. The days get shorter, the bees sleep. Winter starts. Rinse and repeat. Why they needed to keep him up all night, just another one of nature’s larks.

Regardless, it’s daytime now and the show must go on. Louis smooths a last feather. The late summer crowd is always thick: everyone’s on hols, hoping for a lucky streak, a golden egg. He paddles to the far side of the pond, the mucky bit where the weeds are thick and tender. If he makes more noise than usual, here in the shallows where the frogs sleep off the daytime heat, it’s purely coincidental.

“Christ’s bloody fingernails.” The grass on the shoreline is squashed and trampled; the dickhead goose has been back this way. He’s got to start patrolling this shore more carefully. Swallowing his last bit of breakfast, he gives himself a shake. Back to it.

The pond’s other end borders the park’s green space. Park management built a pier there some years ago, extending out into the water. There’s someone waiting already, despite the early hour. Swimming back, he makes an extra effort to glide seamlessly through the water. They’ve come for enchantment; it’s enchantment they’ll get. And anyway, he perfected the art of wakeless paddling seven hundred years ago, if he’s being conservative.

He pulls up to the dock. At the edge of the platform is an older man - in his forties, probably, although time makes it hard to tell. Modern people age so differently.

“Good morning,” Louis greets him.

Surprise flashes over his sunburned face; hasn’t he done any research? It’s flattering. The man sits down abruptly on the dock, crumpling his hat in his hands.

“It’s all right,” Louis soothes. “Make yourself comfortable. Nothing to be afraid of.” The bloke takes one breath, and another, and his hands start to relax on the fabric of his hat. “That’s good, you’re doing great. Now, how can I be of service?”

The man clears his throat and begins his request. “Meggie - my daughter, that is, is starting university. I was just. Uh. I just want her to be healthy and have success. Basic parent things, I suppose.”

“That’s lovely, I’m sure she’ll do well.”

Louis swims closer, edging up next to the pier. Extending his neck to full height, he lets the man run his knuckles over the top of his head.

“Thank you,” the man stammers, straightening up. “She’ll never - can I -” he fumbles in his pockets, a gesture Louis knows well.

“No pictures, please,” Louis reminds him. “You’ll just have to tell her the tale.” He winks, and the man laughs. Over his shoulder, Louis can see the next group approaching.

And so it goes. The early morning trickle becomes a late morning queue, and soon enough it's midday, although the late summer sun slants low. He breaks for lunch at half past eleven, just as the sign says he will.

“Pssst,” it’s a young girl with her hands full of bread crusts, mum hovering in the background. He knows he shouldn’t, but she’s got a sweet face framed with brown ringlets, and muddy knees, and it’s impossible to say no. Bread’s so soft and smooth compared to how it used to be, though he can barely remember those human years.

“Thank you, darling. Just give it a toss, it’ll be fine.”

“All right,” she whispers, suddenly shy. She starts to toss the bread into the water, one piece at a time, when a laugh barks out from the grass not far away, distinctive in its careless happiness.

Louis knows the laugh well, though from this spot he can’t see up the shore to its source. The laugh comes with two men - he’s been watching them in the park for some time, three seasons at least: sharing lunches on the bench, napping on the grass, having impromptu sing-songs with an omnipresent guitar. The loud one once fed him an entire bag of popcorn, without even asking for anything in return - not even a feather for luck.

But the men don’t wander over, more’s the pity, though his little friend is pleasant company.  Too soon, lunch is over, and his easy day takes a turn.

Next in line is a woman: too perfect, pinched face. He’s seen her type ten thousand times over these thousand years, and it’s hard to suppress an eyeroll - but he’s got a job to do, after all, and he’s nothing if not professional.

“How may I help you?” he asks.

“Hello. I’d like you to help me with my ex-boyfriend.” She takes a deep breath. “To place a curse on him, specifically. Impotence, if you can manage. Or -”

“I won’t help you with that, I’m afraid,” Louis says, keeping his tone light but firm. Best to cut her off before she goes further.

Her eyes widen, like she can’t believe she’s getting pushback from an animal. Boring. “What do you mean, you won’t help me? I thought you help everyone.”

“I was pretty straight-forward, wasn’t I? I don’t do bad things.”

“Well, that’s a load of bullshit. Came all the way out here, didn’t I, just to talk to a bloody dumb duck -” Her hands are starting to flap around, she’s lost her veneer of politeness completely. Park security will come ‘round soon, if she doesn’t quiet down. That’s always good for some entertainment.

But park security won’t get their moment of glory, after all. Next in the queue is his little friend from lunch. She’s got her hands on her hips, and her eyebrows are wrinkled up; her mum is suppressing a smile as she starts in.

“He’s here _‘to promote good fortune and increase the likelihood of positive outcome resolution.’_ Didn’t you read the park’s website? It’s right there for you.”

The woman flushes darkly and starts to turn around.

“I can curse you instead, if you like,” Louis offers, stretching out his wings just barely. Honestly, when will people realize.

She deflates in a hurry, color draining from her face. “No, I…I’m sorry. Thank you, I’ll go.” She stuffs her hands into her pockets and leaves, eyes turned down.

And then the little girl is next.  She’s come for herself, apparently, since her mum stays just behind.

“You’re a brave one, aren’t you?” Louis asks, as she kneels on the edge of the pier.

“I’ve a wish that I’m trying to make come true.” Her voice is serious.

“What is it, love?” he asks, quiet so the onlookers can’t hear.

“Mum says if I say, then it won’t come true. Will you just trust me? Please?” Her brown eyes are huge and sincere.

Behind her, her mum is nodding at Louis. It goes against the program, but sometimes you’ve got to lead with your gut.

“Well, then. Can I ask your name?”

She looks at her mum, who nods. “It’s Lucy.”

It’s something to work with. He puffs up and puts on his most official voice, the loud one that reverberates across the water.

“Lucy, you have shown both bravery and kindness today, rare qualities of exceptional value. I am pleased to present you with this gift.”

He dips his bill down, plucking a snowy feather from his chest, and swims it over to where she’s kneeling on the pier. Lucy’s gone quite pink. She’s got a hand over her mouth, but her other hand reaches out for the feather.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Duck.”

It’s only a thousand years of living as an enchanted swan that keeps him from flinching, though he’s certainly been called worse.

“You’re most welcome,” he says. “Put it to good use.”

Her mother helps her to stand, she’s clutching the feather tightly. Over Lucy’s head, her mum beams at him, and it’s the first time in a long time where he’s felt something other than the dull routine of servicing the same requests, year after year, day after day.

The next few hours are the same old grind, a mix of people with minor problems that need a lift, a boost in spirits, a fleck of luck. It’s been a good season - steady throughout, which isn’t always the case. It ebbs and flows, over the years. When public interest starts to fade, all he has to do is lay a golden egg and poof! the numbers are back up again. It’s been a decade since he’s last laid one; overdue, come to think of it.

It’s late in the day, probably a quarter hour after the line has cleared out, when the final visitors approach - and he almost coughs when he sees who it is, although coughing is inelegant in a swan. He catches it in his wing, muffling it just in time.

It buys him time to study his callers. They’re both slight, one fair - the loud one, he remembers - and one darker. They’re toting a guitar and a sketch pad, respectively, and a heavy weight of awkwardness, collectively.

They walk up to the edge of the dock, the guitarist shoving the artist the last few steps.

“Um,” the guitarist croaks, cheeks turning red as berries.

It’s maddening, really. He’s been waiting all summer for them to do anything - make a move, fall in the pond, what have you - and now these idiots are stuttering in front of him like they aren’t grown men and can’t get their act together for two minutes to talk with a magical fucking swan, a task that a six year old can easily accomplish.  For God’s sake.

Finally, the artist one steps forward and clears his throat.

“Eh,” he starts. He’s beautiful, turquoise hair and thick eyelashes, but it’s not promising. “What Niall here meant to say is. We’ve done our research - on your condition, like. And we think…we think we have an idea to break the curse.”

“Oh?” Louis asks. His tail feathers have started twitching.

Niall exchanges a look with Turquoise and opens his mouth to try again. “True love,” he says, definitively. Everyone does deserve a second chance, after all, but Niall’s definitely a bit touched, because he’s making no sense at all and seems perfectly happy with his contribution.

“That is. We think the curse might be lifted with true love,” Turquoise shrugs. “Happens enough in fairy tales, so we figured it’d be worth a shot.”

“Anyway, Zayn and I are wondering if you would like to date us?” Niall asks. “We’d take you places, have fun…” he looks up, searching. “Court you, if you’d like.”

He isn’t simple, after all. It’s nice that he can still be wrong about people.

“Separately, of course, but at the same time,” Zayn hurries to explain.

Louis thinks through his options, discarding responses as fast as they come to him.

“We both fancy you, you know,” Niall adds, scuffing his toe on the pier. “You’re soft and funny, and also kind. That’s a lot of great qualities in a partner, to be honest.”

“And you’re well-fit, for a swan,” Zayn says.

He’s not wrong. Louis _is_ quite handsome - he takes great care to keep his feathers in good order, and his neck is long and supple, even for a swan.

“We could try it, maybe?” Zayn continues. “For a month, if you like. So you don’t have to commit for too long.”

“But what about you two?” Louis breaks his silence, finally. “Would I not be getting in the middle of your relationship?”

“Oh, we’re not together,” Zayn says.

Niall flinches a little, though Zayn doesn’t see it - the way he closes his eyes for half a second, the way his hands tighten on the strap of his guitar case.

“We’re just mates.” Niall jumps in, regardless. Brave. “At the end of the month you could choose between us, if you like. Or not choose either of us, of course, didn’t mean to imply that you have to.”

He’s charming, now that he’s gotten over his initial burst of shyness - someone to keep an eye on, the type that sneaks up on you.

“No hard feelings either way, bro,” Zayn adds, smiling down where Louis sits, still struck dumb on the water.

It’s a good smile, oddly tender for someone he doesn’t know at all and suddenly it’s a great day, the best day, and if he weren’t a swan he’d be smiling - so it’s actually good for once that he is, and his face is feathered and inscrutable as always.

Louis has to think. He needs time. It’s been a long stretch since a human has surprised him like this. But they’re standing there, the set of them, hope stamped on their faces. He goes with his gut for the second time today.

“I will consider your offer,” he proclaims. “Return tomorrow to my pond, and I will present you with my answer.”

Niall whoops and gives a tiny jump, grabbing Zayn by the shoulders; Zayn’s smile blazes off his face.

*******

“That went better than I expected,” Niall says, nudging Zayn with his elbow. It’s been a warm day, one of the last proper summer days they’ve probably got left in the year.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, “Louis was cool about it, wasn’t he? I wonder…” he stops on the side of the walking trail to fish a cigarette out of his pocket. This part of the park is thickly treed, and the sun dapples Zayn all over. He looks like something enchanted himself, made by the forest; it makes Niall’s throat hurt for a second before he remembers to look away.

“Wonder what?” he asks, moving over on the path to make room for a bloke pushing a double stroller.

“If anyone’s tried it yet, like,” he exhales, pulling Niall into walking again. “The true love thing.”

“Well,” Niall swallows, thinking. Zayn keeps him close, and their arms brush together as they walk. He’s got a whole section of his brain roped off and labeled for these moments, a stockpile of touching that adds up to nothing. “He didn’t say. So, either he’s wanting to give it a go, or…”

“Or what?” Zayn looks at him, half-smiling. The corners of his eyes crinkle up and it’s like getting punched in the stomach; if Niall weren’t used to it, he’d probably vom.

“Or he likes us, I guess,” Niall shrugs.

They reach the park’s exit. Zayn drops his cigarette into the bin there and turns to face him. “Want to come with me to the launderette?”

“It is Tuesday, isn’t it?” Zayn rolls his eyes fondly, and they start the short walk to their flat.

“Don’t mock the schedule, mate. It keeps us sorted,” Niall says. “I’ll buy you snacks, and you can sketch the Tuesday wash crew. Or start working on your date strategy.”

“You had me at snacks,” Zayn says, looping an arm around his neck. “Let’s do the wash.”

***

Calvin’s sunning himself on the southwest log when Louis finds him, mostly sleeping on top of Agnes in the way turtles have of piling up on each other.

“Rouse yourself,” Louis says. He wouldn’t normally wake him but it’s a matter of urgency.

Calvin cracks an eye. “What.”

“I’ve got to tell you something. It’s mad and you’ll never believe it.”

“Madder than a magic goose?” Calvin asks, slipping off Agnes just in time, before Louis can nip him. He pokes his head out of the water a few seconds later, a safe distance away.

“Wanker,” Louis says. “Come swim with me, I require your turtle wisdom. For what it’s worth, anyway.”

“Oi.”

Calvin dips his head below the surface again. Louis tucks his feet up tightly against his body - but Calvin emerges in the same spot as before, a minnow in his mouth. It’s a bit gruesome, but he watches Calvin chew it and swallow, the lump working its way down his green-striped throat.

“All right, then. To the far side?” Calvin nods towards the fallen tree on pond’s west end. There’s good eating there, and privacy.

“To the far side,” Louis agrees. So they swim.

*******

Niall’s hesitating over what to wear, hands hovering between two shirts. What impression does he want to give? It’s been awhile since he’s had a date, if he’s honest - it’s been awhile since he’s wanted one, if he’s being more honest. He settles on the blue polo; it brings out his eyes. He’s just pulling it over his head when he’s interrupted.

“Would change your shirt, mate, he’s a thousand-year-old swan. You’ve got to pull out all the stops.”

Zayn’s hanging in the doorway to Niall’s room, an easy smile on his face - like it doesn’t bother him at all, that Niall’s on a quest to make someone else fall in love with him. Maybe it doesn’t, maybe it shouldn’t. Niall grumbles but changes his shirt; the new one, dappled orange koi swimming over stylized waves. He was going to save it for the second date, but Zayn’s not wrong - you never do get a second chance to make a first impression.

“Where are you going, anyway?” Zayn asks, faux-casual.

Niall knows all his tells, they’ve been roommates for too long; he’s fiddling with his phone, spinning it on his palm, carefully not looking up.

“None of your business, is it?” Niall asks. “Can’t have you after my technique, you’ve got to come up with your own plan.”

He pushes past Zayn to get through the door. He’s almost made it to the hallway when Zayn tugs at his wrist, pulling him in. It’s a crushing hug, tight and familiar, and Zayn smells of sandalwood and cigarettes - also crushing, familiar.

“Good luck, have fun.” Zayn brushes a strand of Niall’s hair back into place. He hesitates for a second, hand lingering on Niall’s fringe - but he shakes his head and lets him go, the moment is over. Niall flashes him a smile and is out the door.

*******

“Hallo,” Niall says, shuffling from foot to foot on the dock. He’s wearing a wide smile and couldn’t look less threatening if he tried.

He’s dressed up in a pressed shirt and trousers, hair pushed back off his head in a ridiculous quiff, and Louis’ heart starts beating hard enough he’s surprised it doesn’t create a wake. But the pond doesn’t ripple, so his secret’s safe.

“Hello yourself,” Louis says, and it’s impossible not to beam back. “Haven’t changed your mind?”

Calvin pokes his head up, in his hiding spot under the pier. He’s hopeless, not a stealthy bone in his little green body.

“‘Course not. I’d like to take you somewhere, if that’s still alright with you.”

This was in the agreement they made, that Wednesday morning when the boys came back, and Louis agreed to their proposal. One: travel would be acceptable, as long as it was within flying distance to the pond if necessary. Two: Calvin would be notified of their destination in case emergency measures were necessary, although how an ordinary turtle would intervene is quite beyond him. The knob-end goose is the only one who could actually travel quickly enough to help, and they’re not exactly on speaking terms.

“I reckon it is,” Louis says, giving the signal to Calvin.

“Are you going to get out of the water?”

This is the tricky part: if he climbs up the shore, well - swans aren’t really much for climbing, and it’s awkward to waddle on the first date, but he’s too close to the pier for the running start he needs to fly. It’s a quandary.

Niall kneels at the end of the decking. “C’mere, I’ve got you,” he says, reaching down to Louis’ level.

It’s easy to swim the last meter. Then he’s got big hands on his feathers, the swoopy feeling of being hoisted out of the water. When’s the last time he’s allowed someone to lift him? Not since the great fire of 1334, probably. Niall sets him down promptly on the pier. Good - he shouldn’t be too familiar, they barely know each other, after all.

“Thank you,” Louis says, mindful of his manners. He shakes the water off his feathers. “Would you mind telling me where we’re going?”

He’s louder than he needs to be. Hopefully Calvin is listening somewhere below and hasn’t fallen asleep, that lazy arse.

Niall nods. “Of course. Would want to tell you, anyway. It’s a place called Sundown Kingdom.” He smiles again, reassuring and infectious.  

“I’m unfamiliar with that kingdom. Is it a new regency?”

“Oh. It’s a - a theme park, you’d call it. It’s got, you know, rides and games and food. Ferris wheel, all that.”

Louis’ too old to be embarrassed. “Ah, I think I know this. At night it lights up, there’s a big wheel of metal, spinning around.”

He’s seen it, flying overhead, heard the screams - peculiar, when nothing bad is happening.

“That’s the thing,” Niall says. “That’s it, exactly. But we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to catch the train on time.”

“I’ve never ridden on the train before,” Louis says.

Niall winks. “Well, I’ve never romanced a swan before. So that makes us even.” He holds out his hand, clears his throat. “Louis, would you please accompany me?”

And that’s how he finds himself tucked into a satchel, staring out the window as the scenery streams by, twice as fast as he can fly. Niall’s easy to talk to, chatting comfortably about this and that. It’s a short ride to their destination, he might be disappointed when the train makes its stop.

“Don’t worry,” Niall says. “We’ll get to ride it back.”

It seems busy enough, for late afternoon on a Tuesday - the car park is at least halfway full. Just inside the park’s ornamental gate is a small hut, staffed by a lone woman peering through the window.

“What’ll it be, love?” she asks, as they approach.

“Admission for two, please,” Niall says.

She looks at him for a long moment, face utterly blank. “We don’t allow animals in the park, sorry.”

Niall doesn’t blink. “Not even service animals?” he asks, smooth as frogbit. “It’s my seeing-eye swan.”

“You don’t look blind,” she says, eyeing him over.

Hunched in the satchel, Louis holds himself still, tries to be as swanish as possible.

“Of course I don’t, because I’ve got my swan, here.” Niall fumbles a little, a hand making its way down to give Louis a pat.

Niall’s either devilish clever or a moron, but she lets them in all right, though she looks like she’s granting a favor. Niall takes great care to walk unsteadily until they’re out of her sight.

The theme park is wild, a riot of sounds and colors, drenched golden by the late afternoon sun. Niall seeks out snacks straightaway from a stand that smells of both burned sugar and burned meat, which should be disgusting but isn’t. He’s gotten popcorn, rich and salty like Louis remembers, a sausage roll, a small box of wizened fruits. They sit on a bench wrapped around a shade tree and enjoy their spoils.

“What do you think?” Niall asks, around a mouthful of popcorn. “Where do you want to start?”

Louis has no basis of comparison, it all looks good. “What’s your favorite?”

“Love a rollercoaster,” Niall sighs. “But we’ve got to work up to it, I think. Let’s start with the Ferris wheel, maybe.” He leans close to Louis, breath rustling over his neck feathers as he points it out, the large angular wheel some distance away.

“I’m up for it.”

“Grand.” Niall gives a tiny cheer. The fabric of his shirt strains against his shoulders, it’s hard not to notice.

“What’s the worst that can happen? I can always fly away.”

The bucket seat is warm from the sun and sways when they climb into it. The operator looks at them strangely, but Niall takes great care to ensure Louis is secured, buckling him carefully under the lap belt. And then they’re up, moving in fits and starts - not even that high, just over the tops of the trees and it’s a little sloppy, sure, in a different way than flying, sitting there while a machine lifts you up and swings you ‘round. The real charm is Niall’s face, washed with wonder as he cranes his neck to look out over the park.

“Like being a kid again, on top of the world.” Niall blushes, noticing his scrutiny.

After the Ferris wheel, they take on the Waltzer. Niall shrieks and clutches him when their car spins, and Louis’ laugh flings out of him. They do the Balloon Race, take on the Helter Skelter; more rides pass in a blur of organ music and mechanical arms.

Then there’s sticky candy floss, a shade of pink that’s on the edge of too-bright and tastes like nothing made in nature.

“It’s good,” Louis says, after his mouthful has dissolved.

Niall’s feeds him another piece. “Not too much, now. Don’t want to rot your beak.”

He reaches out to swipe some off Louis’ face. There’s a moment, sure enough - no point in pretending there’s not, when he’s pretty sure time stood still. The sun is turning Niall pink across the bridge of his nose, darker than the candy floss.

“You need sun cream,” he squeezes out.

“Sun’ll be down soon.” Niall shrugs and swigs some water from a bottle.

He’s got nothing to do but watch the long line of Niall’s throat as he drinks, mesmerizing. Niall lowers the bottle and winks, and Louis groans: he’s been played. Niall doesn’t say anything, just tips the bottle toward his beak. The water is cool and oddly flavorless but slakes some of his thirst.

Louis tilts his head toward the next ride, an angular chamber that people have been steadily entering and exiting. “Can we try that one next? With the Star Wars tune?”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “You know Star Wars?” He stands, gathering the rubbish from their snack.

“Seen some movies, since they put up the big screen in Brent Cross a few years ago.”

Niall scoops him up again, not bothering with the satchel. He hasn’t bothered with it for a while, though Louis’ trying not to make a deal of it. It’s easier this way, isn’t it, plus Niall seems like a tactile sort; he’d probably be like this with anyone.

“The drive in?” Niall asks. “Clever. That’s quite a flight, though.”

The queue for the Gravitron is longish, although people have been trickling out of the park as the day’s gotten later.

“Nothing else to do at night, is there? Except listen to the frogs, really.”

“Are they interesting?” Niall asks, eyes lighting up.

“No.”

The line creeps forward; they’re halfway to the entry gate. There’s a woman behind them, trying to convince her young son not to be scared. He wants to do the ride but sounds worried he won’t like it. Louis pokes his head over Niall’s shoulder - not for long, just long enough to make eye-contact - and then snaps it back down. Then again, peeking over Niall’s other shoulder; again, around his waist; again, under his elbow - until the little boy is laughing, no longer worried about the ride.

“You’re good with kids,” Niall says, hoisting him up more securely. “Did you...I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s. It’s all right. I didn’t, though. Have any of me own. Had a big family, though, sisters mostly.” He tucks his head against Niall’s chest. It’s an old sadness, but it still stings. “Stayed with them until the end, then ventured out on me own. Though their fortune changed after I was cursed, people came from neighboring villages to see us, leave us gifts. Then I laid me mum a golden egg, and she never had to worry about anything again. We lived in a proper house, with wooden floors.”

They’re at the gate, fucking finally, signalling the end of emotional confession hour.

Niall shifts him closer for a second, no other way to explain it but a cuddle. He sinks into Niall’s warm arms more than he should.

“Thanks for telling me.”

They climb into the Gravitron. It’s dark inside, carpeted floor to ceiling, walled with odd angular panels. Niall leans up against one, still clutching Louis tightly.

“How about you?” Louis asks. “Family, I mean.”

He shakes his head. “None of my own, just the one brother. We don’t - we haven’t always gotten on. But he’s got a son and I love him, he’s a good kid. Met Zayn almost right away when I moved here, he kind of took me in, been to his parents’ house for holidays, the whole deal.”

He thinks about Calvin, the friends he’s made and lost through the years. “Family can be found, I guess, as much as made. It’s important to stick with the people -”

“Who stick with you,” Niall finishes, a smile flashing across his face.

The ride kicks in, spinning them slowly as it starts. Louis stomach spins with it, but he’ll blame it on the machine. It goes faster and faster, blaring the familiar Star Wars theme, pressing him up against Niall, who keeps holding him, gravity tying them tighter and tighter together.

They make their way to the park’s far side just as the sun is starting to go down. It’s all different, lit up in strange electric colors - reds and oranges making trails in the darkening air.

“How about that rollercoaster ride?” Louis asks, through a yawn.

“Save the best for last,” Niall agrees.

The queue is short, this time. There’s almost no wait at all before it’s their turn. Niall settles the harness over both of them, opting to keep Louis in his lap, where he can feel Niall’s heart hammering away. It picks up speed as they pick up speed, beating hard against his cheek as they swoop and soar. And it’s faster than the Ferris wheel, much more like flying but with no means of escape, strapped to a metal machine, turning them upside down; Niall’s whooping swallowed up by the night sky.

The ride home is quiet. He settles in Niall’s lap without thinking about it, dozes off a little while Niall strokes his back: gentle, repetitive. He shakes himself awake when the train stops.

It’s suddenly awkward, standing on the platform. “Can fly from here,” Louis offers.

Niall takes a step towards him. “Would rather walk you, if that’s all right.”

“Suppose it is,” Louis says, ducking his head.

They reach the dock in a few minutes, the moon hanging swollen in the sky. Niall sets him down and clears his throat, looking over the pond.

He points up to the sky. “Look, it’s Deneb. Part of -” he stops for a moment, then continues, softer. “Part of Cygnus. Sorry, I’m sure you knew that. I like the stars.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, watching Niall’s face. It’s in shadow, his eyes aren’t made for darkness.

“Dunno. They make me feel small, I guess. Like I’m just a tiny speck in the universe. It’s comforting.”

“Thank you,” Louis says. “Today was lovely. I enjoyed it.”

It’s not unlike being back on the Gravitron, the lurch in his chest when Niall kneels and opens his arms. But he takes a step in, and Niall gathers him up.

“Me, too,” Niall says, releasing him. “I’ll see you soon.”

“All right. Have a pleasant night,” Louis says.

He spreads his wings wide and takes off, flying off the dock. He makes a loop around the pond, buzzing close over Niall’s head, before settling silently onto the water’s black surface.

*******

Zayn’s not home when Niall gets back, which is good, since he’s an absolute mess of conflicting emotion. He’d take one look at Niall’s face and suss it all out, when he hasn’t had time to process himself. Whatever he thought, going into this date - he didn’t reckon it would turn out the way it did.

He rummages in the fridge, coming up with leftover pasta. He hates eating in bed, but once the door’s shut, he can finally relax. So he eats, staring at the ceiling, until the food is gone and his eyes are burning dry. It’s too early to sleep. He couldn’t anyway; his head’s fully done in from the day’s activities.

A soft knock breaks him out of his reverie. He could ignore it, but his light’s on and Zayn’s his best friend, there’s no use pretending that he’s gone or sleeping.

“Yeah,” he calls.

“Can I come in?” Zayn asks, through the door.

“Of course.”

Zayn comes through the door, hesitating at the end like he’s not sure what he’s going to see. His eyes sweep around the room, quick -

“What the fuck, Zayn, do you think I’m hiding a swan in here?”

He cackles when Zayn flushes, keeps laughing while he walks across the room and drops down on the bed. Stretched out perpendicular, he pillows his head on Niall’s shaking stomach.

“Dunno, I…” He takes a big breath. “I just didn’t know, bro. Didn’t want to interrupt, like.”

“Are you going to ask me how it went?” Niall runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair, absently.

The rustle of Zayn’s shrug against the sheets is loud. “Don’t need to, I can see that you’re happy.”

Zayn sounds almost wistful, but it’s probably the late hour and the long day. And he _is_ happy, with that thrill of meeting someone new, when everything clicks and it’s like meeting an old friend, instead. Rediscovering, like, ‘Oh, it’s _you_ again.’

Zayn hums, possibly in agreement, and Niall realizes he’s been talking out loud. He lets his voice trail off into nothing, silence tangling like a vine between them. Zayn’s hair is soft under his fingers, almost soft as Louis’ feathers.

It’s quiet for so long he thinks Zayn’s gone to sleep. It’d be all right if he did - not the first time.

“Watch a movie?” he asks, low enough to let him keep sleeping, if he’s drifted off.

“All right,” Zayn says. “Don’t wanna move, though.”

“Lazy bones. Take your boots off, at least.”

Niall twists to get the laptop off the nightstand. The thunk of Zayn’s boots hitting the floor is loud.

“Bridget Jones?” Zayn asks, scooting to lie properly at the top of the bed.

“Ask, and you shall receive.”

The familiar opening sequence starts up, comforting as anything, and they’re off.

*******

The host doesn’t bat an eye when Zayn gives his name for their reservation; it’s always nice to meet another professional. Their table is tucked in a front corner, and Louis’ seat is mostly hidden from view by a potted plant. The lines on the carpet suggest the plant wasn’t always in its current spot.

“Clever,” Louis says, as Zayn sets him on his chair.

Zayn’s eyes flash up. “Not trying to hide you, but...I thought this way we wouldn’t get interrupted so much. If people figure out who you are, like.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind,” Louis says. “It was smart, actually.”

Zayn exhales, something like relief flitting over his face as he settles into his own chair. “Good.”

Silence settles over them, of the awkward variety. It’s probably the kind that turns comfortable, when you know someone. But he doesn’t know Zayn, not yet anyway, and he’s a little harder to crack than Niall.

The waiter comes, then, to introduce himself - his name is Bruce - and take their drink order, and for a second Louis has a wild urge to do something irrevocably fucked up, like order a glass of Chianti and quote Silence of the Lambs, but he holds it in. Zayn gives their drink order (water for both, and a decaf tea for Louis) and Bruce is gone.

“Have you been here before?” Louis asks. The edge of the menu is stamped gold, a winding vine that curves around the corners. For once, he’s curious about what the letters say.

“Once, when I first moved here. It was on a list, I think. Top Places to Eat, or sommat.”

Questions crowd through him - when did Zayn move here, and why? Where is his family? What’s his favorite thing to draw? He settles on a question more commonplace.

“What’s good? To eat, that is.”

“All of it, probably. What sounds good to you?” Zayn taps the menu.

“I can’t read.” Louis feels himself shrugging, his wings crawling up his back. It’s a purely human gesture, coming out of nowhere. He has to shake it off; it can’t mean anything yet.

“Oh,” Zayn blinks. He doesn’t make a big deal of it, though, just scoots his chair over and starts pointing to different sections, reading through the options in a weird and placeless accent that makes everything funny.

When Zayn gets to the French dishes, Louis honks with laughter, loud enough that he’s grateful for the plant’s shielding leaves.

“Enough, enough. Just stick to the seafood, we’ll be alright.”

Bruce comes around the plant to take their order and catches the end of what Louis is saying. His eyes go round as saucers.

 _Shit._ It is what it is. He may as well order his own food, if the jig is up already.

“I’ll take the Loch Fyne scallops please. With the buttered winter greens,” Louis says, in his most proper accent.

Zayn bites down a smile, burying his face in his menu.

“Excellent choice.” Bruce’s hand shakes on the pen as he scribbles down Louis’ order, and then Zayn’s, but he’s otherwise the soul of discretion. “Anything else?”

“Nah,” Zayn says. “Think that’ll do us.”

Bruce turns to go, but pivots back again; Louis just manages to smother a sigh.

“Do you...Would you mind doing an autograph? I just - I won’t tell anyone here, I promise, but I never thought I’d see you in here.”

“Can’t really do an autograph, lad.” Louis twitches a wing in explanation.

Bruce’s face falls. “Of course, that was silly of me.”

Something in Bruce’s posture cracks Louis’ heart, the way he’s still clinging to his pen.

“Could do a picture, though.”

Bruce lights up, looking impossibly young as he fishes the phone out of his trouser pocket, while Zayn shakes in the background, smothering his laugh with the palm of his hand. The waiter leans down close to Louis - and this is why he never does pictures, there’s no time to even sort his feathers. But it’s over in a second, no point in whinging.

Zayn stops the waiter before he walks away. “Just don’t post that yet, if you don’t mind. We’re trying to have a night out, yeah?”

“Sure, sure. I’ll wait until tomorrow.” He nods briskly, turning professional again. “Your food should arrive shortly. Please let me know if you need anything in the interim.”

He watches Bruce disappear to the back of the restaurant. “Sorry, I didn’t think -”

Zayn shakes his head, but he looks disappointed. “Was trying to work ‘the eccentric millionaire takes exotic pet for a fancy dinner’ angle, so I guess that’s off.”

Louis snorts. “A dream of yours, then?”

A half-smile creeps over Zayn’s face as he toys with Louis’ teacup, spinning it on the saucer.

“Everyone has a dream. Just think about them, gathered back in the kitchen, gossiping over it. Like, ‘I’ve just been sat this table, you won’t believe it’ -”

Louis can picture it, clear as anything. “Right, right. ‘Can you believe this arsehole, brings his swan everywhere?’”

“Exactly, like - ‘is he rich or mad?’” Zayn trails off. His fingers are still busy on the cup.

“I’ve been to Loch Fyne, you know,” Louis offers, trying to keep the silence from creeping back in.

“What’s it like?”

“It’s - I’d never go back. It’s beautiful, quiet. The water tastes different. Wild, like. Like it’s almost alive. Then…”

Zayn’s watching him, face perfectly smooth; having all that attention is slightly nerve-wracking.

“Then?” he prompts.

“Then I almost got eaten by a basking shark, is what happened. Me whole life flashed before my eyes, just like they say. Got away, lost a tail feather or two.” He shudders, remembering. “Scotland’s great, though. I go there sometimes in the off-season, got a friend up in one of the northern lochs I try to visit now and again. She’s a shy one, she is.”

“Oh, like you - another swan?”

“No, she’s...Not sure what she is, exactly. Just lonely, mostly, and old.” He shifts a wing.

“Guess you have lots of friends, scattered all over.”

“Eh. Not too many. It’s just.”

What is it about Zayn? He could look at Louis with those quiet, dark eyes and all the secrets would just tumble out of him, like thrown dice. He’s got to be careful. “Most people want something from me, so that’s out. And animals...die, don’t they? I’ve got me friend Calvin, a turtle - they live a long time, at least, and don’t need anything from me. Since they’ve got wisdom, there’s no need for luck.”

Zayn’s hand is light on the tip of Louis’ wing. “I’m sorry, hey.”

Louis gives himself a shake. What on earth is wrong with him, wrecking a nice evening?

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t get out much.”

Zayn just smiles at him, a long smile that stretches out into the small space between them, and then - and then the food comes, right on time. There’s no more awkwardness with Bruce, and Zayn moves back to his side of the table.

The scallops are fresh, and the winter greens are delicate and buttery.

“How’s the scallops?” Zayn asks, through the candlelight sharpening the shadows on his face.

“Amazing. It’s been ages since I’ve had one cooked. Would you like one?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He looks at Louis’ plate, speculatively. “Had scallops once, not sure if it’s my thing.”

Apology flashes over Zayn’s face, like his taste in food is a reflection on Louis. He’s different to Niall. It’s not fair to compare them, but it’s impossible not to. He swallows questions with his dinner, there will be time. He hopes there will be time.

Outside on the pavement, night is deepening. Cool air whisks through his feathers, the bittersweet taste of fall on its leading edge. But right now, he’s warm and full and relaxed, cozied up in the satchel, and Zayn’s lingering like the night’s not quite finished yet. And that’s good, he doesn’t want it to be.

Zayn hesitates on the pavement, still facing straight ahead. “Hope it’s not too late. I’ve got one last stop, if that’s all right.”

“It’s not too late. I’d like that,” Louis says.

So Zayn turns right instead of left. It’s not a long walk to get where they’re going, which seems to be a large grassy square wedged between two tall buildings. The lawn is flecked with squares of pavement, like a checkerboard - each holding a sculpture, probably thirty in all. Tall, squat, twisted; lit up with spotlights; eerie in the darkening night. He swallows, long throat gone dry.

“The city put this up -” Zayn starts. But Louis isn’t listening.

A few steps away, a sculpture’s tugging at him - wrought out of metal, three times the height of a human, it looks like it was pulled straight from the fiery center of the earth and left to cool in an arching twist on the surface.

“Give us a boost,” he says, nodding up at the sculpture. Zayn lifts him out of the carryall and heaves him up into the air. It feels good, stretching his wings; he settles at the top.

“What’s it named?” he asks.

Zayn crouches, squinting at the brass plate.

“Mixed Feelings.” A laugh leaks out of him, quiet in the park. “Do you...or did you do any art?”

From this height, the other pieces look tiny, a playset of twigs and rocks. Zayn’s face is tilted up towards him, the park’s dramatic lights throwing him into brightness and shadow.

He shakes his head. “We couldn’t really, back then. My family was poor, there were no means to do it. But we’d sing together, mum had a flute she received once for payment and me oldest sister learned how to play. And we did other things - made up stories, put on plays.”

“Now?”

“I don’t know. I still sing sometimes, but. Mostly focused on the daily grind, if I’m honest. There’s not a lot of art in it. Plus wings, you know.”

“Yeah, bet you’d be sick at painting.” He looks at Louis’ wings enviously. “You’d have great texture.”

It startles a laugh out of him, the upside he’s never realized. “To think - all this time, could’ve made something of meself.”

Zayn’s mouth quirks up at the corners. “It’s still possible. Late bloomer, and that.”

“Wanker.”

He flies down, and they take their time walking about. Zayn carries him, this time, leaning in close to point out details.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Louis asks, suppressing a shiver.

“It’s that one.” He doesn’t hesitate at all, pointing to a tall structure at the far edge of the park. Massive, it glows white and round in the darkening night.

As they get closer, the sculpture shapes itself into something human, gigantic. It’s hollow inside, formed from white iron letters welded together. They duck into its hollow core, it’s big enough inside to fit ten of them. Zayn plops down on the wet grass, Louis settles next to him.

“Why this one?”

From the inside, it’s haunting, the shapes and empty spaces cradling the air. Zayn’s beautiful, too, sharp enough to needle.

Zayn draws a breath, and Louis knows suddenly and precisely what he’s going to say. “It’s because it makes me feel -”

“Small,” Louis murmurs. “I know.”

Zayn blinks and smiles, and it would take a stronger swan to not be affected by that smile.

Too soon, they’re back at the dock, a lonely pier jutting into the dark pond. Zayn’s pulled his shyness back over himself like a cloak. The frogs are quiet for once. Maybe the goose has come back and eaten them, finally something he deserves.

There’s the telltale plop of a hard shell sliding into the water, directly below their feet.

“That'd be Calvin. He must have waited up.” He didn’t need to do that, the idiot.

“Do you think I could meet him someday?” Zayn asks, setting him down on the decking.

The night breeze picks its way inside his feathers, slinking down his neck.

“I’m sure he’d like that. He only speaks turtle, of course, but he’s very friendly.” The waves lap softly against the worn wood of the pier. “Well. Give us a cuddle, then.” Louis extends his wings and Zayn leans down.

His arms are too tight and not tight enough and too soon are letting Louis go. It’s not fair, going through this twice in one week. He swallows down the heart in his throat, which climbed a long way to get lodged there.

“See you,” Zayn says, a half-smile flickering over his face. And then he’s gone, his jacketed back disappearing into the shadows of the park.

“Yeah. See you,” Louis croaks.

Just then the frogs start up, close enough that he knows they saw the whole thing.

“Oi, fuck _off,_ why don’t you?”

*******

“Here you go, lad,” the man says, handing an apple to the little boy - his son, probably, Niall guesses.

The kid’s face is lit with simple happiness, he could watch it all day. In the midday fluorescent light of Wednesday at the grocery, everyone else looks pale and washed out - even the cheeses seem tired.

“Aubergines look good today.” Zayn’s next to him all of a sudden, and Niall jumps.

“Jesus Christ, you know I hate that ninja shit. Put the heart crossways in me.”

Zayn laughs, the gobshite. He tilts his basket, to show three of the strange fruit stacked inside.

“It’s just not fair, I think.” Niall reaches in and touches one of the smooth purple rinds. “It’s like, it should be good. It looks like it should be good. And then you eat it and it’s -”

“It’s what?” Zayn asks, despite the number of times they’ve had this conversation.

“It’s horrible. Like death in my mouth.” Niall shrugs.

“Come on, it’s not all bad. I’ll make that baba ghanoush you like.”

“Deal.” Niall’s hesitates by the Gouda, reading through the labels like it matters. Smoked or aged? “So what’s next for you - I mean, what’ve you got planned for your date with Louis tomorrow?”

Zayn nudges him with the basket: get a move on. “Going for a movie, I think. It’s supposed to rain again, all day. Avengers Five just came out, Louis mentioned wanting to see it.”

“Good choice, mate. Been wanting to see that, myself.”

There’s a little twinge, but the lie comes easily enough - Niall did in fact want to see it, and so did Louis, so Niall took him yesterday. But Zayn didn’t ask him about his date - still hasn’t - and love is a battlefield, after all. He drops some cheese into his basket, he doesn’t even know what kind. Hopefully nothing awful.

“Could still go, this weekend if you want,” Zayn offers.

He sneaks a look at Zayn out of the corner of his eye, he’s staring down into his basket, like Niall’s answer is tucked under the eggplant.

“What if it’s no good?”

“Doesn’t matter, we’d still have fun, wouldn’t we?” Zayn looks up and nudges him again, half smiling, and it makes him sweat and want to die all at once.

His laugh shakes out, old faithful. “We always do. Plus you know I’m weak for popcorn.”

“Yeah.”

“All those years I couldn’t eat it, probably.”

“Wish I’d known you then.” Zayn touches his elbow lightly. “What about a curry tonight?”

“Always fancy a curry, if you’re making it,” Niall says, just to watch Zayn’s smile go full-fledged, just to keep it curled up in his stomach, a miniature flame.

“In that case, I’d better -”

Zayn walks away abruptly, in the opposite direction, down the aisle with the medicines. He scoops a tub of antacids off the shelf, tosses it into his basket.

It’s one of life’s great tragedies that he can’t bang his head against the grocery shelving without people thinking he’s lost it, let alone the floor.

“Thanks, mate,” Niall says instead, stuffing the newest round of unresolvable feelings back down his throat. Maybe it’s emotional reflux, bubbling up from years of shoving them down, scratching the lining of his esophagus like acid.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.” Zayn’s smile is easy, unaffected. “Chicken won’t cook itself.”

*******

“How’d it go last night?” Calvin asks, slow and rumbly with sleep.

It’s raining again today, a slow piss that keeps visitors out of the park. Thank god, he’s in no mood to dispense platitudes and listen to the petty problems of others when he’s got enough petty problems of his own. That said, they’re in the weeds not far from the pier, just in case someone pops by - can’t be completely irresponsible, after all, his mum didn’t raise him like that.

“It was - well, it was wonderful, actually. Zayn took me - we went to a film.”

Calvin doesn’t really get it, but Louis has talked about movies before, the big picture of talking people, playing out a story.

“Two in one week, ‘s a good thing you like movies.” He sounds drowsy, but all he does is sleep. Turtles, honestly.

Calvin’s not wrong - it _is_ a good thing, since they both took him to see the same film. It would’ve been funny, if it weren’t so predictable. And he did have fun, both times. Salty popcorn, Niall’s big laugh, Zayn’s warm coat draped over the seat to make it more comfortable.

He shifts a wing slightly, dips down to nibble at an errant weed. He chews slowly, swallows. The plant sticks like clay in his throat.

“Can I ask - with Agnes - how did you know, like? There’s plenty of turtles in the pond to choose from, so to speak.” His tail feather itches terribly, he might have a molt coming.

“Well,” Calvin says, blinking his eyes open and jerking Louis out of his thoughts. “I didn’t, not at first. I don’t think she knew, either. I still don’t know if she does, or if it’s something that can be known.”

He pops his head into his shell, then back out again. When he starts talking, he’s got his full turtle voice going, and Louis has to listen.

“There doesn’t have to be only one choice, you know.”

“There you go, being wise again. What would I do without you?”

Calvin blinks again, yawning. “The same as you do now, probably. You know what to do, you just want to hear it from someone else.”

“Suppose I do,” Louis sighs. “Since you’re being helpful, let’s talk about that goose for a minute before you doze off again.”

*******

Niall’s gone mad, is the only explanation. This is not the gulf. It’s another sort of sculpture park, as best Louis can tell. The grass is scratchy under his feet and smells weird; there’s something off about it.

He doesn’t have time to investigate further, since Niall’s come back. His hands are full of metal poles and small white orbs, and Louis questions his own good sense for a minute.

It’s a rare sunny afternoon, and the park - or whatever this is - is more or less deserted. Miniature, brightly colored buildings, including an actual windmill, are scattered over the landscape, and it looks like there’s a small pool and a spot with sand. That might be wonderful; he hasn’t felt real sand, dry sand, on his feet in ages.

“What is this place?” Louis asks.

Niall stares at him for a second, eyebrows knitting together. “I told you, it’s golf.”

Nothing.

“You know golf. Caddy Shack? Happy Gilmore?”

“You’ve lost me, I’m afraid.”

“It’s sport. Watch.” Niall drops one of the globes onto the turf. “The point is to hit one of these,” he points to the ball, “with one of these,” he hefts the metal pole, “into one of those.” He points some distance away, a few wingspans at least, to a circular hole in the ground. Who was dumb enough to cut these holes? It’s a waste of perfectly decent lawn.

Louis is shit at golfing, though he gets better at driving the ball with his beak. And at driving Niall to distraction.

“Nice bum.” It’s perfect, encased in trousers of an unknown fabric.

Niall jerks and laughs, whiffing his shot. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

“Maybe, but it’s also true.”

Niall lines up the shot again; this time, Louis trumpets as loud as he can.

“Jesus christ.” Niall drops the club.

The shrug comes more easily now, scrunching up his bird back. “I’m just evening the odds. Plus you’re cute when you’re mad.”

Niall flushes, pinker than spring ranunculus.

“I’m not mad,” he says, scratching at the back of his head.

Louis honks at the obvious lie, tilting his own head up in offering. “Want a pet, for luck?” There's something about Niall’s laughter that gets under his skin; something about his irritation that digs even deeper.

It’s a good afternoon, anyway - Niall sings under his breath constantly, they eat chili chips, he gets to watch the muscles in Niall’s arms and shoulders bunch and release, bunch and release; it’s hypnotic.

When they get back to the pond just after sundown, Niall surprises him by pulling a guitar case out of the boot of his car.

“Thought I could play for you a bit,” he mentions, coloring again. “Zayn mentioned that you like to sing, or that you used to. If you want to...if you want, I’d like to hear you.”

His heart twists. “I dunno, lad. It’s been ages, hasn’t it? I'd like to hear you play, though.”

Niall nods, lifting the guitar out of the case. He runs his finger down its neck, looking more at ease than Louis’ ever seen him. Niall takes a breath and starts playing. The melody flurries out, seemingly at random, bright notes flying out into the dusk. After a few beats it morphs into a familiar tune - and memory wells out of Louis, sudden and strong:

A different lake, a different county, farther north. Fire flickering over pale human faces, gathered together, singing as the snow falls. A traveling theater group found him, there; with no looming commission, they spent a moon camped out by his lake. One of them - George, it was - had a guitar, he played it constantly.

“As it fell out upon one day, Rich Divès made a feast -” The words come out of his mouth without warning, keep coming.

Niall lifts his head, a tiny smile curling his mouth at the corners. He nods at Louis, and his hands are steady on the strings, and the words keep coming.

“Then Lazarus laid him down and down, And down at Divès’ door.”

It makes no sense, but his swan voice still startles him sometimes. It’s lower than he expects it to be, raspier than his human voice ever was. He gets through the third verse when things fall apart; the words that have been racing to get out of him run out.

Niall stills his hands on the strings, tamping the sound. He opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again.

“That was… You. That -” He shakes his head, tries again. “I’ve not heard it that way before. In Ireland, there’s different words to it.”

Niall’s staring at him like he’s just discovered a new constellation, the weight of his gaze makes it hard to sit still.

“You have a go, then.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “Fair play.”

He puts his hands on the strings again, the first chord bursts out -

And the frogs start up, fucking bastards, loud as he’s ever heard them. Niall flashes a smile, bless him. He adjusts his hands on the frets and segues into something different: up-tempo, loud.

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog,” he shouts, into the weeds. “Was a good friend of mine. Never understood a single word he said -”

The frogs have gotten louder, as if they have any idea what he’s singing about. Useless.

Niall’s laugh ricochets through the park. He sets the guitar down, giving himself fully over to it.

“I knew him, Jeremiah,” Louis says, once Niall starts to quiet. “He was one of the good ones.”

Niall’s eyes widen, glittering in the dark. “Seriously?”

“You’re too easy,” Louis honks. “But you’re not dodging it. Sing the song, already.”

And he does.

*******

It’s later than he wanted, by the time Niall gets home from work. Up the three flights of stairs to the flat and his knee’s aching dully, shooting up the outside of his leg to his hip. It was a fucking awful Friday at work. Maybe Zayn will still be up, maybe he’ll want to watch a movie. Maybe Niall will get a cuddle out of it, even. Light’s leaking out from under their door, when he finally reaches it. Thank christ, he can salvage one good thing from today.

He swings the door open. Sweet relief surges through him, there’s nothing like being home. Except.

Except, he can hear the murmur of voices, wriggling down the hallway. Both voices are familiar, and dear, and his heart falls back into his stomach.

He takes his time getting sorted: setting his keys on the console, hanging his jacket on the hook, lining his boots up with precision on the rug. But there’s no way they didn’t hear the door, he wasn’t trying to be quiet. And he’s knackered. He’s mortified. He can’t hide in the hallway forever. Taking a breath, he gathers his courage and rounds the corner to the sitting room.

Zayn and Louis are there, sat close on the sofa, heads bent together in the warm light. Zayn’s got a book spread across his lap, and he points at the page as he starts reading the next word aloud - slowly, carefully.

It’s bullocks. He should have stayed at work; he should have offered to close. Amanda wanted out, anyway, even though she didn’t pull a double.

Almost, he’s quiet enough that he could probably pass through and they wouldn’t even notice. For a good three seconds, he gives it serious consideration. But he must make a sound - can they hear his creaking heart? - or maybe it’s a shift of the light, but Zayn looks up. The smile on his face is huge and devastating, since it’s beautiful and not for Niall. None of this is.

“Niall,” he says, nudging Louis with an elbow. “You’re finally home.”

“Elbows, Zee,” Louis snaps, then turns to Niall. “Come on, then, Nialler. Been waiting ages for you to get here.” He pats the sofa with a wing. “Don’t leave us hanging.”

“Nah,” he plasters a smile on his face, puts his hands up. “Thanks, though. I’m wrecked, won’t be good company anyway.”

“Niall -” Zayn shifts the book off his lap, like he’s going to stand up.

He forces a laugh, but it sounds good enough. “Really, don’t let me keep you. Bushed, is all, just after me bed. Louis, it’s nice to see you.”

Zayn settles back, but he’s half-frowning. It’s doesn’t matter. Niall’s already turning, walking down the hall to his own room.

In the safety of his room, he changes carefully into sleep pants. Sprawled in bed, finally, the covers swallow him up. He throws an arm over his eyes and listens. Through the thin walls, they sound good together - Zayn’s low syllables and Louis’ faster, higher – like a set of wind chimes. And he knows how this is going to turn out. They’re brilliant together, two rare finds. He’s the one lucky to be in their orbit, after all.

Sleep comes eventually, though it’s not the best sleep he’s ever gotten.

 

It’s too early the next morning when he’s pulled out of bed. He’d usually try to roll over, wait out a more reasonable hour. But he’s up and stumbling to the sitting room before he knows it, arse crack of dawn notwithstanding.

He finds them where he left them, sleeping on the sofa. Zayn’s cradling Louis in the crook of his arm. Louis’ got his neck extended across Zayn’s chest, head tucked into the curve of Zayn’s throat. The new light of morning splashes over them, impossibly hopeful, and it’s time - past time - to give it up.

It’s after daybreak, so he doesn’t feel bad about waking them. He coughs, experimentally. Zayn sleeps like the dead but he’s has no idea about Louis. He coughs again, louder. Louis cracks one eye slowly, then both all at once. He squawks, jumping up, before he gets a handle on himself – his feathers are a kip, sticking out like white, fluffy hay.

“What time is it?” Louis groans. “Wait, don’t tell me. I know it’s late.” He bills at his chest feathers.

Zayn’s just laying there, blinking and useless like he is when woken up. Niall’s still groggy himself, trying to make sense of it; to be productive, sweep aside the leftover sadness.

Louis squares himself, shaking his feathers into order. “Well. People will be worried. I’ve got a job to do, after all.”

“Want me to drive you?” Niall offers, finding words at last.

“Bless you, love. Just pop the window open, why don’t you - I’ll make good time from here.”

The fresh air blasting over Niall’s face feels good. He stands aside, waiting for the heavy rush of feathers past his head. The sharp nip on his ankle startles him. Louis is still standing on the floor by his leg, waiting.

“You’re going to have to lob me, lad. Usually need a running start.”

Niall’s horrified, his mouth flaps open and shut while he gropes for words. “I can’t - I won’t. What if - what will the neighbors think?” He settles on.

Zayn’s started to laugh, still laid out uselessly on the sofa.

“It’ll be fine, I promise. Give it a go, yeah?” Louis nudges him gently this time, lifting his wings a little.

Niall grabs him round the chest and leans as far out the window as he can. Louis is heavier than he seems, though Niall would never say that out loud. From three stories up, he’ll have a fall if this doesn’t work. Niall’s heart’s battering his breastbone, and it’s too early for this; he hasn’t even had tea.

“Do it,” Louis says, laughter suppressed in his voice. Niall gives a heave, muscles straining - and then Louis is off, laugh trailing behind as he flies off into the morning.

*******

Turns out there was no point rushing to the park, after all. It’s been a poor showing today, which is unfortunate - he’s got too much time to linger on his issue. Or _issues,_  rather. Each date only makes it worse, tightening the knots - at this rate, he’ll never get untangled.

He handles a few petty problems - a lost handbag, a lad who wants to enter a singing competition - thanks goodness, since there’s only so many times he can swim back and forth to the same patch of water lilies. At least Calvin’s come by, though he caught a fish earlier and has been unbearably smug about it.

Then it’s lunch break, such as it is when no one is even waiting. He paddles his way over to where Calvin’s perched on a log, face blissfully tilted up to the midday sun. Calvin waits him out, he’s good for that - knowing when silence is useful.

“I’m not going to be able to choose, am I?”

Calvin blinks his eyelids up. “You’re not asking yourself the right question.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Louis says. “Do the thing.”

Calvin sighs. But there aren’t a lot of things that give him pleasure anymore; torturing Calvin is one of them.

But Calvin’s game for it, making his voice extra-creaky as he starts over.

“Asking the right question, you’re not. Do you have to choose, the right question is?”

“Don’t be daft - of course I have to, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

A trail of young tadpoles winds its way through the warm water near the surface, just in front of him - they’re babies, not a care in the world; there’s nothing unnatural in transformation they’re about to make. Things change form, it happens all the time. But they don’t usually change back.

And the thing is - the thing is, Calvin’s right. The point of it was not to make a choice, after all; the point of it was to break the spell, or to try.

“Okay,” Louis says, straightening his wings. “Okay.”

*******

Zayn gets in when Niall’s up to his elbows in biscuit dough. It’s after midnight, too late for baking, but he’s got to do something with the excess energy flooding his body. Tomorrow’s Tuesday, and it’s not just washing day - the month is up, they meet with Louis, Louis renders his decision. Bing, bang, boom. It sounds easy, breaking it down to each individual step.

Zayn hangs his jacket over a kitchen chair. “What are you doing?” he asks, staring at Niall’s hands.

The dough is fucking sticky as hell, and he’s got oats up to his elbows; he’s pretty sure a flax seed will be permanently embedded in his cuticle.

“Making biscuits. For tomorrow. Parting gift and all.”

Zayn’s eyebrows fly up for a second before he smooths them back down, a look of understanding washing over his face. Niall hates it - he doesn’t need either Zayn’s understanding or his beautiful face right now.

“That doesn’t look like biscuit dough, babe.”

He comes closer, tries to stick a finger in the bowl. Niall would slap his hand away, if his own hands weren’t buried in the mess.

“It’s a special recipe. He can’t have real biscuits, Zayn, it’s not healthy.”

Zayn leans up against the counter, watching Niall scoop the dough onto a baking sheet, careful piles spaced evenly across. It makes the back of his neck prickle all over, draws his shoulders up tight.

He slides the sheet into the oven and sets the timer.

“Budge up,” he says, using his hip to push Zayn away from the sink.

He takes a long time, washing his hands. Zayn keeps close, eyes boring holes into the side of Niall’s head. He can feel his cheeks burning with it, so he keeps washing.  His fingers will prune up soon if he doesn’t stop – but he’s not sure how.

Zayn turns the water off.

“You’ve got something on your -” he turns Niall to face him, swiping at his cheek.

For a shuddering second, Niall just needs to be someone else: standing in the kitchen, after midnight, close enough to see the tiny streak of lilac just below Zayn’s hairline, where Niall got careless with the dye. But he’s not someone else; he never is. So he reaches out to touch Zayn’s lip, brushing his thumb there to wipe away imaginary dough. Zayn’s breath flutters against his thumb.

“Sorry,” he tries to smile. “You’ve got something on your -”

Zayn flips him back against the side of the refrigerator so fast he can’t keep up, crowding close. The long line of Zayn’s legs pressed against him almost takes his breath away.

Zayn’s staring him down, and the look on his face makes Niall’s stomach twist.

“I’ve got to, just once.”

Niall nods. And then Zayn’s mouth is touching his, soft - just a brush, just a brief, sweet friction, before he pulls away. Niall swallows the sound of protest trying to crawl out of his throat.

“Sorry, I don’t -”

Zayn’s still hovering over him, trying to apologize.

“Hey,” Niall says, curling his fingers into the bottom of Zayn’s t-shirt. “I’ve got to, just once.”

He pulls Zayn in, lays his mouth against Zayn’s smile.

It’s a beautiful few minutes, pressed against the fridge, trading kisses with Zayn. His beard is rough beneath Niall’s fingertips, and Niall’s fingertips are rough against the smooth skin of Zayn’s neck, and Zayn presses into him a little more.

Good sense returns, all at once.  He drops his face into Zayn’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

“I don’t want to lose you. Either of you.”

Zayn pries his face up, hands gentle against Niall’s jaw.

“You won’t.” His mouth sweeps over Niall’s, one more time. “I promise.”

The oven timer goes off. Zayn makes no move to let Niall away from the refrigerator, pouts when Niall nudges him away.

The biscuits look terrible, rocky brown lumps full of grain and sultanas. If they’re meant to predict tomorrow’s outcome, it’s not auspicious. But he scrapes them off the tray with a spatula - the wooden one Trisha gave them as a house-warming gift - and sets them on a sheet of foil to cool, and then there’s nothing left to do. The kitchen’s clean, the biscuits are sorted, Zayn’s kisses lay sweet against his mouth like petals; maybe dawn will never come.

“Go to bed,” Zayn says, laughing at him.

He’s been talking out loud again, then.

“Stay with me. Not - not like that, just.” Niall looks up at him, gives a shrug.

Zayn watches him carefully for a second. “Yeah, all right.”

They get ready for bed in silence. Zayn climbs in next to him, same side as usual. And the dark whirls in, blessed relief.

*******

In the morning, Niall and Zayn make the long drive north to Yorkshire, like Louis told them to. He told park management he’d be off for the day. He’s not a paid employee; he can do what he wants.

The car is quiet, they’re neither one of them morning people. Zayn deejays while Niall drives. He’s put on something beautiful in words Niall doesn’t know. It soothes and fits the ache in his chest, seeps into him like syrup.

It’s just shy of midday when they arrive at the café Louis told them about, plunked in the woods like an outpost. Just off the carpark is a trail that will take them to where Louis is waiting - the Strid, he called it.

“Do you want to get something?” Zayn nods at the café.

They both managed a biscuit or two in the car, which weren’t half bad. He should be hungry, but the thought of eating is impossible.

“Nah,” Niall says. “Don’t think it would sit well, to be honest.”

“Same.”

It’s a hike through the woods, although the footpath is well-maintained in the thick underbrush. Beneath the blanket of trees, with nothing to keep him occupied but his own dread, it’s easy to lose track of time. It seems like they’ve been walking for ages, each step forward a step in the wrong direction. He forgot the fucking biscuits, as well; just another bad omen.

“What if we’re lost?”

He knows he’s asked it already. He’s sweating through his shirt, and Zayn’s cheek got scratched by a branch. If ever he harbored a fantasy of roughing it in the woods - well, neither of them are really cut out for it.

“We’re not lost.” Zayn points ahead. “There’s the tree he told us about, we’re almost there.”

The sound of running water gets stronger and Zayn must be right. They round the corner and there’s Louis, standing on the bank of the stream. In the forest’s filtered light, his feathers are bright to glowing, unbearably unearthly, and Niall’s going to explode from nerves before he even gets to say hello. Or maybe he’ll just stay here forever, become part of the moss - that’d be a tale to tell, the boy who became the forest.

“You made it,” Louis sounds relieved and just like himself, and somehow Niall’s feet keep going.

*******

He’s got to focus. They’re here, at the spot he told them, at the time he told them - both dying of nerves, he can tell. It’s not the first time since he’s met them that he’s grateful for the mask of feathers shoring him up.

Niall stumbles on a root as they approach, and Zayn reaches out to steady him. His hand lingers on Niall’s arm for longer than necessary, as he leans in to mutter in Niall’s ear - and Louis can’t miss it, the way Zayn’s mouth hovers just over the shell of his ear, the way Niall shifts closer so they’re physically touching. His heart lurches painfully in his chest; it’s weird how getting the things you thought you wanted doesn’t always make you feel the way you thought it would.

He sees the moment when they notice him: Zayn drops Niall’s arm and they separate a few inches.

There’s a frog in his throat - not an actual frog, though it feels like it could be - and the air burns in his lungs as he takes a deep breath. He’s prepared, he went through this speech with Calvin forty times. He owes it to Calvin to say the thing.

“Hello,” he starts. It’s a beginning, at least. “Thanks for meeting me here. I’m sure you’re wondering why.”

They nod, heads bobbing up and down in synch.

“This is the last place I was human. Nine -”

Niall’s eyes have gotten huge; he’s so pale he might swoon.

“Jesus, Niall, sit down. Can’t have you falling into the water, especially not here.” Niall sits down on the trail, and Zayn follows. That’s better. “Anyway. Nine hundred and seventy-three years ago, I came to this spot.”

It was a day not unlike this day, though the season was different. He always liked this part of the forest, it was a good place to rest, get a drink after checking the trapline.  There were no rabbits in the traps that day, just a squirrel and the mushrooms he found in the shadow of a fallen log. Spring was the best time to forage, the barren parts of the woods coming back to life, birds chattering on about their travels. But that day, on the shore, something was different.

“There was a woman, there. Tall, dressed all in white. I didn’t know her. She looked at me - I was a mess, I think, filthy and tired, hands full of game and mushrooms. I remember -” this part gets fuzzy, like it always does when he tries to think through it. “She pointed at me and said my name. My whole proper name, a woman I’d never seen before. And then she said, _‘You don’t belong here,’_ and turned and stepped into the river.”

It’s Niall who asks the question, so gently he almost can’t hear him over the rushing water.

“What did you do?”

“I tried to run to the water, to help her or at least try to pull her out. But I couldn’t.” There goes the tail feather, twitching away. “I was stuck to the bank, glued almost. And that’s when I changed.”

Zayn moves to get up, but Louis shakes his head: _stay put._

“What happened?” Zayn asks. “Did she come back?”

“She didn’t come back, no. I pulled myself together, eventually, waddled home. And I’ve been this way,” he lifts a wing, as if they don’t know what he means, “ever since. I never saw her again. I don’t - I don’t know if she ever made it out of the river.”

“That’s the story, isn’t it?” Niall sounds muted. “That no one who goes in ever comes out. I wonder…”

He’s not going to have to wonder for long. Louis draws himself up to his full height; time to get this over with. It’s a bit of a dick move, bringing out the swan voice - but if nothing else, a thousand years on earth have taught him that there’s a proper way to do these things. His voice rings out again, sonorous in the woods.

“Niall and Zayn. You came to me a month ago with a proposition to break this spell. The thirty days have passed, and I am ready to make my decision.”

Niall’s indrawn breath is audible; Zayn’s squeezing Niall’s hand so hard his knuckles are white.

“Louis -” Zayn starts.

But Louis is out of time - or out of words - and almost out of hope. He looks them each in the eye, steady as he can. Calvin had better be right about this.

“I love you both,” he says. “Thank you for this month.”

And he turns and flings himself into the powerful current.

*******

It’s afternoon tea-time when the small family arrives at the café tucked into the southern end of Yorkshire Dales National Park.

“Mama, mama - look!” The little girl smiles and points up at the sky.

Three huge swans fly past, in tight formation, honking wildly as they race by.

 

[come say hi on tumblr](https://dinoflangellate.tumblr.com/post/181012178288/would-change-your-shirt-mate-hes-a)


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